


Then It's Just A Little White Lie

by Joanne_Lupin



Series: Trich!Connor AU [1]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Con's self-worth is as low as my standards, Dermatillomania, Dissociation, Getting Together, How did it end up like this?, I mean kind of, I think????, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Trichotillomania, but trich and derma are really their own beasts aren't they, idk man i'm just trying to cover my bases here, it started off with just a headcanon, just adding those tags in case ppl have triggers, sorry - Freeform, this fic is so long omg wow, very slight side Churchtarts and Cunnilungi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_Lupin/pseuds/Joanne_Lupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>If we can make it through another day</em>
  <br/>
  <em>With you believing in my innocence,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Then we can make it through another year...</em>
</p><p>Connor McKinley doesn't have a "problem." He has a nervous habit. And maybe that nervous habit makes him even more nervous and ruins his skin and keeps him from getting his work done, but it is NOT a "problem," no matter what Kevin Price, problem solver extraordinaire, has to say about it.</p><p>Inspired by the song "White Lie" by the Lumineers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then It's Just A Little White Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Here are some things:
> 
> 1) TW for Trich\Derma, obviously. Some descriptions of the acts and feelings I associate with them, including an instance of a panic attack-type-thing. Please be aware that this fic is based on MY experiences with Trich\Derma. (I've definitely been diagnosed with Trich, but in my case, Derma is just kind of along for the ride.) These experiences might not match up perfectly with your experiences. There's not much I can do about that.
> 
> 2) A brief explanation of the canon divergence: I wrote this fic as a way to explore some of my Trich!Connor headcanons. As I was writing, I realized that I couldn't follow the events of canon without pulling too much focus from Connor's stuff. (And rightfully so-- what happens to Kev in canon is traumatic and serious.) If I wanted to, I could write about what happens to Kevin in canon. But that's not what this fic is for. So I tried to strike a balance between an event traumatic enough to trigger Kevin's crisis of faith, but not so intimate that it would isolate Kev from the others and mentally scar him as much as canon would. Hopefully this works well enough. 
> 
> 3) Honestly, please go listen to "White Lie." It's a great song, and also, you'll probably be able to see its influence on this fic. The headcanons came first, but the song helped me build it into more of a story.
> 
> 4) Here are some tumblr users: elderr-price, ask-a-district9-elder, and stomatium. They fill my life with gay Mormon joy.

Connor doesn’t quite remember when it all began. All he knows is that one day, he started, and he hasn’t been able to stop since. 

Probably his earliest memory of it is his parents telling him to stop. He was eleven. They’d been in church, and his mother had caught sight of what he was doing. She’d pulled him out into the hall during the hymns, which he’d hated because they were always his favorite part, and told him that if he couldn’t stop, he’d have to sit on his hands.

Connor has sat on his hands during every church service since then.

The worst of it is on his arms, especially the forearms, and including his hands and fingers. He’s taken to using tweezers, ever since he discovered how wonderfully painful it feels to dig them into his skin and release the small, black dots of ingrown hairs that strain against the damaged surface. His brows are pretty bad, too. He’s had to sneak makeup from his mother’s things, and later from the drug store by his school, to hide what his wandering fingers had done the night before. Sometimes he attacks the hair on his head, but he knows there’s no way for him to hide a bald spot, so he grits his teeth and redirects his energies to other, more easily concealed places. He’s made himself bleed in some strange spots.

He really hopes he’s brought enough makeup to survive his mission. He doesn’t think he’ll have much access to quality brow pencils in rural Uganda. 

That first night as District Coordinator is terrifying. They’re a bunch of kids, most of them having just left home for the first time, and they’re all looking to _him_ , even though he’s just as much a kid as the rest of them. So Elder McKinley tells them what he’s learned from years of the church’s advice:

“What I always do, if I’m thinking something sad, or something I shouldn’t be thinking… I just, well, turn it off.”

The strategy turns out to work well for the mission, and may even explain why no one raises any questions about the tiny, red marks Connor’s arms. During the day, all of the elders smile and work like they aren’t in an entirely new continent with barely any of the comforts of home, surrounded by a village full of casual blasphemers who they are supposed to baptize into the church. And during the night, well… During the night, everyone’s too worried about keeping their own problems at bay to worry about anyone else’s.

Connor throws himself into hands-on work— he digs wells, makes food, cleans the mission. When his hands are busy, he’s okay. During lulls, he sometimes has to sneak off. He always carries a pair of tweezers with him. It’s not like he wants to leave, but sometimes his hands feel like they’re buzzing and he thinks that the only thing in the world is the hair that needs to be purged from his skin right that second. 

It isolates him, sometimes. He finds it hard to simply keep conversation with the others. It takes him much longer than it should for him to do his paperwork and religious studies, so he’s holed up in his office more than he really should be. It’s okay, though, because the way it is now isn’t perfect, but it works fine. He can live like this. That’s enough for him.

-o0o-

Kevin Price is a fixer. He’s the oldest of five siblings, and he has a borderline obsessive drive to be the best at everything he does, which means that, in Kevin’s mind, there isn’t a single problem he can’t solve.

His first priority in Uganda, of course, is getting baptisms— especially after he hears that the elders here haven’t baptized _anyone_. But when the other elders tell him how they (don’t) deal with their problems, he resolves to help them, too. Especially Elder McKinley.

Elder McKinley is his second priority because of something strange that happens their first night. When the District Coordinator reaches out to shake his hand, Kevin sees that his arm is spattered with red spots. He looks up, opening his mouth to ask if the bugs here are that bad, but McKinley’s expression stops him. It’s just a glimmer of panic when their eyes meet, but it’s enough that Kevin’s words die on his tongue. _Later, then,_ he thinks. 

So later, Kevin volunteers to wash dishes with Elder McKinley, and he looks like he wants to refuse, but he doesn’t have any logical reason to do so, so he thanks Kevin and begins clearing the table.

“Elder McKinley, I wanted to ask you… Well, Elder Cunningham and I got a whole speech from Miss Hatimbi about all the bugs and animals and, uh, murderers and robbers…”

McKinley chuckles, but doesn’t face him. “Ah, yes, Naba’s given all of us that speech…”

“Yikes. So, yeah. I was just wondering if the bugs are all that bad. It seems like they, uh, like you.” After Elder McKinley’s response earlier, Kevin has his doubts that this is just a bug thing. It seems much more personal. He’s giving the elder the opportunity to tell him the truth.

“Oh. Oh, no, the bugs aren’t to blame here,” McKinley replies, his tone far too light. “This is… it’s a reaction to some kind of plant here, I think. Not contagious or anything, if you’re worried, Elder.”

Kevin frowns. This sounds like a lie to him. But what would Elder McKinley be hiding? What’s so shameful about those little marks? 

“I’m not worried about that, Elder McKinley.” Kevin carefully watches the elder, whose back is turned to him. “I just wanted to know if you were okay. I guess if you are, it’s none of my business.”

“You’re right, Elder. It’s _not_ your business,” McKinley snaps. Kevin sees his shoulders tense, then release as Elder McKinley sighs. He finally looks at him. “I’m sorry, Elder. That was rude. I appreciate your concern, but you have nothing to be concerned about. Okay?”

Kevin nods. “I’m sorry, too, Elder McKinley. I shouldn’t have pried.” 

They wash up in silence for a while before Kevin offers an olive branch, asking Elder McKinley about his experience in Uganda so far. They end up having a pretty enjoyable conversation, enjoyable enough that he can see the two of them becoming good friends, but this just makes him more curious about whatever is plaguing Elder McKinley.

But as curious as Kevin is, it’s a while before he can even _think_ about Elder McKinley’s spots again.

-o0o-

In the days following their excommunication, Connor remains almost exclusively in his office. Now that they’ve lost the financial support of the church, he’s been endlessly busy securing funds and planning new budgets. Connor’s buzzing fingers slow the whole process down considerably, and he hates himself for it, despite the words of encouragement from the others. They don’t know the real reason why Connor’s so frustrated, but they can tell he’s under a lot of pressure. So they all make sure to show their gratitude whenever he makes an appearance. Especially Elder Price, which is certainly a surprise.

Aside from Connor himself, Elder Price probably has the most taxing job of them all: he’s been charged with assembling the official Book of Arnold.

Elder Price, it turns out, is an excellent wordsmith. Elder Cunningham has creative ideas, but he has trouble putting them to paper. So Price follows Cunningham around, taking notes on every bit of wisdom their prophet spouts, and then assembles it all into beautiful verses. He’s up working long after everyone else has gone to sleep; he has the bags under his eyes to prove it.

Oh, and this is all while recovering from a gunshot wound to the leg.

 _That_ is a harrowing story, even if it was all caused by an incredible amount of hubris. After Elder Price barged into the General’s camp, the General had decided to use him as a warning to anyone conspiring against him. 

“Honestly, I’m really lucky I’m American,” Price had said matter-of-factly while telling them the story. “If he’d killed me, it would have been an international incident. So he shot me in the leg, threw me in the back of his jeep, and had his cronies dump me in the middle of the village.”

 _Yeah,_ Connor thought sarcastically. _“Lucky” is exactly the word I would use..._

Gotswana managed to piece Elder Price’s leg back together. He’d been out like a light when the elders had finally been able to see him, and Connor had to admit that Elder Price, asleep and small-looking (despite his height), was kind of cute— in a purely aesthetic way, of course. 

Elder Price was in a bad place, spiritually, after the incident. Elder Cunningham even found him drinking _coffee,_ of all things. But then Price saw something magical in the villagers’ play, something the rest of them didn’t quite understand at first, and the look of in Elder Price’s eyes— shining more brightly now than before he’d lost it— was what compelled them to stay. 

Elder Price pours every last ounce of his energy into their new church. He follows Arnold all around the village, even though the uneven terrain makes walking on crutches that much more difficult. He only asks to stop if he needs to write something down, and he actually glares if the others try to slow their pace for him. For someone who was perfectly fine drinking coffee a few days ago, he’s adamant that he take nothing harder than Tylenol for the pain. He will sometimes use his injuries to get out of chores, but the other elders forgive him, because it really is hard for him to stand too long when he can’t put weight on one of his legs, and because when they let him off the hook (which is pretty much every time), he spends the time working on the book. Several times, Connor has had to remind Elder Price to join them for dinner. 

So, all in all, none of them are very surprised when Elder Price gets a cold. (That is, except Elder Price himself.)

“But Elder! I can’t fucking stay home! I’m doing the Lord’s work!” Elder Price whines. Then he breaks out into yet another coughing fit, sinking down on the couch. 

“Elder Thomas can take notes for you today, Elder Price. You need to stay here and rest up. Frankly, with how hard you’ve been working yourself, I’m amazed this didn’t happen sooner.” 

“Don’t worry, Elder Price!” Poptarts pipes up. “I’m an excellent note-taker. My teachers always made me copy my notes for the sick students when I was in school.”

“But I know Arn-Elder Cunningham better than anyone!” Elder Price protests. “I know what’s important, and when he’s just dicking around. I—” He coughs again. 

He looks terrible— or, at least, as terrible as someone like Elder Price can look. He’s pale and shivering, his eyes are glassy, and his hair is limp and sweaty. And though Connor knows Elder Price would never admit it, he’d been absolutely winded simply hobbling from his bedroom to the dining room that morning. He’s in absolutely no shape to be wandering the Ugandan countryside, crutches or no. 

“You are staying here, Elder Price. That’s an order.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Connor softens. “I’ll be here, too. I can fetch you anything you need.”

Elder Price sighs, defeated. “Fucking fine.” He lies back, crossing his arms (and letting his crutches fall loudly to the floor in the process). “Can you get me a blanket, Elder McKinley?”

Connor smiles. “Of course, Elder Price.”

When Connor returns with the blanket, Elder Price is lecturing Poptarts in between sniffles and coughs.

“If he gets to talking about fucking Kirk and Spock again, cut him off. He went on for a fucking _hour_ about that the other day, and it’s sweet, what he’s trying to do, but I fucking _get_ it already. But pay close attention if he starts talking about Gollum and, uh… shit… Smeagol, I think the name is. I haven’t quite been able to wrap my head around what the fuck he’s saying with that, so if you can figure it out, that would actually help me a lot.”

“Elder, you should be resting,” Connor chides. Poptarts seizes the opportunity to escape. Connor lays the blanket over Elder Price. 

“I’m lying down, fucking aren’t I?” Price replies angrily. 

Connor laughs. “You don’t get sick often, do you?”

“Maybe once or twice a year, actually. And it sucks every fucking time.”

“You know, Elder, just because you _can_ swear doesn’t mean you always _should_.”

“Why the FUCK not?” Price counters.

“Well, if you use those words all the time, they won’t carry as much weight. If you use them sparingly, people will know you mean it.”

Kevin huffs. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Damn straight,” Connor says, winking. That gets him a begrudging smile. “Do you need anything before I get to work?” 

“I’m good,” Elder Price replies, sinking back onto the couch and shutting his eyes.

“Okay, then! Just shout if you need anything!”

It doesn’t take very long for Connor to find out that this is not a sustainable system. For one thing, Elder Price’s voice is damaged enough without having to shout for Connor every time he needs anything. For another, he needs things a _lot_. Connor feels like he gets up every five minutes to tend to Elder Price. So, though he hates leaving the privacy of his own office, he sets up shop at the coffee table in the living room.

“You don’t have to…” Price murmurs. Now that he’s let himself rest, he’s realized how tired he actually is, and it shows in the way his eyelids droop and his voice shakes.

“I kind of do,” Connor says as he sits on the floor. “I can’t get any work done if I’m running all around the mission doing errands for you. Besides—” he smiles kindly— “I figure you might want some company.”

“Thanks.” Price seems to drift off for a moment, so Connor jumps just slightly when he hears him speak. “Hey, Elder McKinley… What’s your first name?”

“It’s, uh… It’s Connor. Why do you ask?”

“Arnold and I were talking, and we think it’s kinda formal, calling everyone ‘Elder’ or ‘Sister’ all the time. It doesn’t seem very friendly.” Kevin’s brow furrows. “So… Connor… Huh. Okay.”

“Is there something wrong with my name?” Connor asks playfully.

“No, no… I just… It’s a nice name, I guess…”

“Thanks…” Connor smiles, feeling the start of a blush in his cheeks. “What about you? If you’re going to call me by my first name, I should know yours.”

“Kevin.”

“Kevin…” Connor nods. “Suits you.”

Kevin’s chuckle is quickly cut off by a coughing fit. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess.”

“Whatever you want.”

There’s another long lull. Connor manages to stay seated, avoiding the urge to seek seclusion and attack his arms, but he does get lost in looking, occasionally. That much he figures is okay, since Kevin is absolutely wiped out on the couch across from him and won’t see what he’s doing. Sometimes Kevin will cough, and the sudden noise startles Connor out of his tight focus.

“You know,” Connor says at one point, “you haven’t asked me for anything for a while, ever since I came to sit with you.”

“Yeah… I guess I just wanted the company…” Kevin coughs. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s perfectly fine. I understand.”

“…Hey, Connor. How’s your, uh, allergic reaction thingy?”

“What?” Connor remembers the conversation he’d had with Kevin on his first night. “Oh, yeah. It’s, uh, it’s the same.”

“Weird. Cuz, you know, you’ve been inside pretty much all the time since we left the church. Is it something in your office? Maybe we should check it out.”

Connor curses Kevin’s sharpness. He’s a smart guy, even when he’s groggy and feverish. Damn him.

“No, no. I think it’s fine. My skin is just… weird…” Connor winces at the lame excuse.

“I don’t know. You were obviously self-conscious when I asked you about it earlier. Wouldn’t you like to… feel better?”

“I’m not self-conscious,” says Connor self-consciously.

Kevin sighs, and he sounds… angry, almost. “I have four younger siblings, Connor, and I’m the oldest. I’ve had to be the mediator enough times to tell when someone is hiding something. I can’t make you tell me, but honestly, I cannot for the life of me think of a single reason why a few little red marks would be so shameful that you would get as defensive over them as you are. Which means that there’s something serious going on here, which means you need _help_.” Kevin is panting and coughing by the end of this speech, but his tone remains steady. It’s kind of amazing.

“…It’s not serious,” Connor says after a moment. He realizes that, at some point during their conversation, he’d started picking at a spot on his arm. He can’t bring himself to stop. “It’s… It’s just a harmless little habit.” 

“Harmless? Connor, this isn’t exactly the cleanest place on Earth. And some of those marks look a hell of a lot like scabs. What if you get an infection? You could lose an arm or something.”

Connor tries to laugh away Kevin’s concern. “You have a very active imagination.”

Kevin bristles. “At the training center, they told us that we have to be extra careful about cleaning out any and all wounds if we end up in a country like this. They had _slides_. It may have mostly been a bunch of brainwashing bullshit, but that part really stuck, so forgive me if I’m a little concerned.” He’s coughing really hard now, enough that Connor is genuinely concerned for Kevin’s survival. 

“Kevin, please calm down. You need to rest.”

Kevin tries to reply, but he can’t get anything out in between his coughs and wheezes. When they finally die down, Kevin simply turns his head to Connor and glares.

“I know you just want to help, but frankly, I don’t think I really need it. And I think your energy would be better spent elsewhere. _And_ I honestly don’t think you can.” Kevin’s glare intensifies at that. Connor tries to ignore it. “Just sit back and relax. The other elders will be back for lunch soon, and with the way you’ve been hacking like that, I have half a mind to ask one of them to send Gotswana when they go back to the village.”

“You and I both know that’s not necessary. This is just a cold.”

“Exactly.”

Connor doesn’t look up again until lunchtime; he can’t take the look he catches in Kevin’s eyes. It’s almost like pity.

Connor does not want pity from Kevin Price.

-o0o-

After lunch, Connor has the opportunity to retreat inside his office for a few moments before he returns to watching over Kevin for the afternoon. He relishes the satisfying sting that remains on his skin. It feels like a detox.

“—with Kirk and Spock. Only I was kind of interested, so I let him talk,” Poptarts is saying to Kevin. Connor stops just outside the living room, letting them talk in peace. “I dunno, it just— it never occurred to me that you could like both. I always thought you had to pick. Or, well, I didn’t mean it like that, but I thought that you could only like one gender. So I… Yeah. I wanted to hear him talk about that.”

“That’s fine. The scriptures are meant to provide knowledge and comfort. So if you received those, we know we have something that works.”

“Thanks, El—uh, Kevin!”

Connor intrudes then. “Back to work, Poptarts! We’ve still got plenty of work to do today!”

“Of course! See ya, Kevin! Elder McKinley!” Poptarts waves, grinning, and takes off.

“He’s an energetic one,” Kevin remarks. He falls back on the couch, closing his eyes.

“Try rooming with him,” Connor says. “So… Kirk and Spock?”

“Yeah. They’re from ‘Star Trek,’ I guess.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know about a lot of this stuff,” Kevin admits. “Maybe that’s a good quality for a religious scribe, though. I don’t have my own opinions about all the stuff he’s referencing.”

Connor nods. “Yeah, maybe. What’s got Poptarts so excited about Kirk and Spock, though?” He pauses, realizing he’s tipped his hand. “Shoot. Please don’t tell him I was listening.”

“Of course.” Kevin coughs. “Basically, on the TV show, Kirk and Spock both had relationships with women. But for both of them, the strongest of all their relationships was with each other. And some people take that to mean, you know… romantically.” 

“Ah.” Connor blushes. He knows they all know about Steve, and about that summer spent at camp. 

“It’s sweet, actually, what Arnold’s doing. Because I know he doesn’t quite understand it, but he’s trying to work it in for me.”

“For you?” Connor blurts out.

“Oh… Yeah…” Kevin’s pale face regains some of its color. “I mean… I was always too busy studying and taking care of my siblings to think about dating… so I always assumed I’d end up with a girl… But ever since I— uh, ever since the General shot me… I’ve been thinking a lot about things… And I don’t know… Maybe that’s not really what I want… And I said that to Arnold, cuz after I walked in on him and Naba, we sort of got to talking… And… I think this is his way of… of showing his support…”

Connor smiles. “He’s a good friend.”

“He is.”

“If you want to talk to someone who might understand, though, I’m right here,” Connor says before he can lose his nerve. 

Kevin gets slightly redder. “I don’t think… Thanks. Thanks, Connor.”

“Now who’s hiding something,” Connor mutters under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, Kevin.”

-o0o-

Kevin stays at the mission the next day, too. He’s a little better, enough that he can carry on a real conversation with Connor. He enjoys that; no matter what confusing, mixed-up feelings he has, he wants to know Connor better. He’s a problem to solve, but he’s more than that— has been becoming more for a while. Now he’s Connor, who has two older siblings and wants to teach elementary school and misses his dog back home. And when they don’t talk, he has time to think. 

Kevin has to admit to himself that part of the reason he’s been working himself to the bone is because he wanted to distract himself from what he was feeling about a certain District Coordinator. 

He admires Connor for his leadership, his intelligence, his kindness. Those are things anyone might admire about a friend. But Kevin has realized that he also admires Connor’s hair, and his lips, and his shoulders, and— Well. And… other things. 

While he’s sick, Kevin gets to feel Connor’s presence without anyone or anything distracting him from it, and he realizes that being with Connor just feels… _good_. Good in away Kevin didn’t think another person could make him feel just by existing next to him. 

Even so, it takes him a stupidly long time to talk to Connor about it. He just can’t work up the courage. 

And then something inspires him.

From their conversation that first sick day, Kevin surmises that Poptarts might be having some doubts about his sexuality. What he doesn’t expect, though, is that Poptarts is having these doubts with someone specific in mind. 

Kevin has been feeling better for a few days, now. Connor lets him work again, which is good, because there’s a lot of work to catch up on. Poptarts took excellent notes, but Kevin still needs to get them down in the form of actually readable stories. This can take a while; Kevin is absolutely meticulous about getting each word perfect.

He’s up way past lights out, and he’s getting tired, but he wants to get through a few more sections before he goes to sleep. So he gets up, hoping stretching his legs (well, one of them, anyway— he really shouldn’t be doing anything with his injured leg) and getting a drink of water might help him stay awake.

He hears hushed voices in the kitchen. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he actually kind of does. 

“—what Elder Cunningham was saying, and I realized that I’d been ignoring all these thoughts I’ve been having because, well, I’ve always liked girls, which meant I _couldn’t_ like boys. Like, I thought you had to like one or the other, you know? But you don’t.”

That’s Poptarts speaking, Kevin thinks. There’s a long silence, then Poptarts speaks again.

“James?” That’s Elder Church’s name. _That makes sense,_ Kevin thinks. He knows the two have been close since before they came to Uganda.

“I’m sorry. I… I think I understand what you’re saying.”

“Listen, James. You’re my best friend. And I wouldn’t want to do anything to ruin that. But… maybe we were meant to be more than just best friends?”

The moment of silence that follows is excruciating, even for Kevin. Finally, James replies.

“I think… Maybe…Maybe you’re right.”

And then there’s a muffled, surprised noise. 

_They’re kissing. Holy shit._

Kevin decides to give them some privacy. 

That incident is what spurs him on. If Poptarts was able to risk everything by telling his best friend about his feelings, surely Kevin could voice his own feelings to Connor, easy-peasy.

Right?

-o0o-

“Hey, Connor, could I talk to you for a sec?” Kevin asks one day, after lunch. He looks flushed. Connor wonders if he’s getting sick again. He really shouldn’t have let Kevin go back to work so soon, but he’d been getting antsy, and Connor was getting tired of sitting on the floor. 

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Could we, uh, talk alone?” 

Connor frowns. _Is he going to ask about my arms again? Because I don’t need this right now…_ “We could go into my office, I guess.”

“Perfect!” Kevin’s eyes shine unnaturally brightly. He practically drags Connor into his office. 

“What’s this all about?” Connor asks, a little more defensively than he intended.

“Well. Uh. Remember what I was saying, about Kirk and Spock? About how I’ve been questioning… things…?” Kevin begins. He’s shaking like a leaf, and his hands look like they might slip from his crutches. Connor helps him to a chair by his desk. 

Connor raises an eyebrow. Kevin notices how strange Connor’s eyebrows look— like they were drawn on, almost. But people don’t do that, do they? Kevin files it away for later. 

“Yeah?” Connor asks, pulling Kevin back to the task at hand.

“I… Well… I… I like you. Like that. Romantically.” Kevin stares at him intensely. Connor can see Kevin’s face fall when he frowns.

“Do you?” he asks. “Do you like me? Or do you like that you could fix me?”

Kevin gapes at him. He looks hurt. Connor almost feels bad, but he’s still wary of Kevin’s intentions. 

“I know how you are, Kevin Price. You love a good challenge. You want me because you think I’m a good challenge. You think there’s something wrong with me. And you think that you can fix it. Well, you’re wrong on both counts. So if that’s all you want from me, you can get out of my office.”

“Connor…” Kevin’s voice trembles. “Is that the impression I give off? That I only care about people because I want to fix them?”

Connor thinks about Kevin’s friendship with Arnold, and about how he interacts with the other elders. He shakes his head. “No. No, of course not,” he backpedals. 

“I… I’ve gotten to know you a lot, especially when I was sick, and I’ve been watching the way you’ve guided us through all this excommunication stuff, even though it’s meant working yourself down to the bone. And… I just think you’re really amazing. No matter what.” 

Part of Connor wonders if that’s really true, but it’s Kevin Price, who never says anything he doesn’t mean and who dives headfirst into everything he puts his mind to and who Connor has honestly had a crush on ever since they first met. He can’t resist.

Connor bends down next to Kevin’s chair. It’s an awkward angle, but he doesn’t want to make Kevin get up. He looks Kevin right in the eyes. 

“I might regret saying this, but… I think you’re pretty amazing, too.”

The next thing Connor knows, Kevin’s hands are on either side of Connor’s face, and their lips are pressed together, and his eyes are closed— when did they close?— and he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but Kevin’s lips feel so warm and soft that he almost doesn’t care. 

A knock on the door forces them apart. It swings open before Connor can answer, and Arnold walks in.

“Hey, buddy, I’ve been looking for— oh.” Arnold’s eyes widen, taking in their flushed faces and deer-in-the-headlights looks. He grins widely. “Oh my gosh! Finally! I’ll leave you alone!”

“No, no. We should get going,” Kevin says, standing. “We can talk later. Right, Connor?”

Connor smiles. Kevin smiles back. “Yeah. We can talk later.”

“All right! C’mon, buddy! Hey, maybe you two and me and Naba can double date sometime!”

Kevin chuckles. “Yeah. Maybe…”

Connor waves at Kevin. Kevin waves back.

The buzzing in his hands is kept at bay through most of the afternoon.

-o0o-

Kevin makes it a point not to bring up whatever’s going on with Connor’s arms, no matter how much he wants to. It’s hard sometimes. He’s curious, of course. But he’s also worried. Whenever he thinks about the photos he saw of horrible, flesh-eating infections, he feels a little sick. And sometimes, when Connor’s out of his office for too long, Kevin feels anxiety coming off him in waves, even in places that should be relaxing. He doesn’t know what this means, but he hates not being able to make it better; he hates being so helpless.

He knows, though, that he can’t bring it up. This is something Connor will only share with him when he’s ready, and bringing it up incessantly will only prolong the process.

One night, two-ish months after their first kiss, Connor calls Kevin into his office. He looks very nervous. Kevin wonders if this might be it. If tonight is the night he’ll learn what’s going on in Connor’s head.

Connor is pacing restlessly around his office. He’s picking relentlessly at a spot on his arm. Kevin tries to reach out and take his hand, but he’s still on crutches and he simply can’t _catch_ him.

“Kevin… I’m so, so sorry. I’ve been running the numbers over and over again, and I think… I think we’ll have to go home.”

Kevin’s heart sinks. He sits down. “You couldn’t find any funding?”

“Not enough to make up for what we lost.” About a week ago, they’d gotten word that one of their biggest supporters, an old ex-Mormon philanthropist, had died, and he hadn’t willed them any of his money. He’d been instrumental in keeping the mission going after their excommunication. 

Kevin shakes his head sadly. “That sucks. I mean, I knew we couldn’t stay here forever, but I thought… I thought we’d have more time…”

“I know. I figured you should be the first to know, since you were the one who encouraged us to stay in the first place. I’ll call a meeting for the entire mission tomorrow morning.” Connor’s arm is bleeding. He’s still pacing. Kevin has half a mind to tackle him, crutches be damned. “We should have enough to get us home. I’ve informed our other donors that their contributions are no longer necessary. We have a few days to get things in order, possibly enough time for Arnold to secure a tourist visa or something for Naba, if they want. Oh, no— I’ll have to tell the villagers, too. Maybe I can just tell Mafala, and he can tell everyone else. They might want to throw us a going-away party, but I honestly don’t know if I could handle that, and I don’t want them to waste their resources on us. Maybe we could just not tell the villagers— No, that won’t work. Naba can’t keep a secret to save her life. But if we—”

“Connor,” Kevin says sharply. “Stand still.”

Connor stops in his tracks. He stares at Kevin, whose eyes direct him to the bloody spot on his forearm. “Oh,” he says softly.

“It’ll be okay, Con. Everything will be okay. I’ll go get you a bandage, okay? You can stay here.”

Connor shakes his head. “It’s fine. I have some first aid stuff in here.” He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a box of bandages.

“You need to clean that, Connor.”

“It’s fine, Kev. This happens all the time,” Connor says breezily as he applies a bandage.

“All the time?” Kevin gapes at him. “Connor, that’s not— you can’t—”

“We have more important things to worry about,” Connor interrupts firmly. 

“No, we don’t.”

“The mission is _closing_ , Kev—”

“And like you said, there’s nothing we can do about it.” Kevin starts to stand, which gets Connor’s attention.

“You shouldn’t—”

“Connor.”

Kevin hobbles over and leans on Connor’s desk, allowing him to take Connor’s hands.

“I just… I don’t understand why you care so much. It’s not a big deal.”

“Connor, you were hurting yourself!” Kevin’s eyes widen, realizing. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? Something you do to yourself?”

Connor hangs his head. He’s quiet for a long moment. He takes his hands from Kevin’s, hiding his arms behind himself. A blush rises in his cheeks.

“Sometimes… especially when I don’t have enough distracting me… I… I can’t help it… It feels like… I dunno… I fixate on… on h-hairs. Specific ones. And then I can’t relax until… until they’re gone. And sometimes… I see them under the surface, and… and I have to get them out… It’s so weird, saying it out loud. It sounds so stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid,” Kevin says immediately, even though he doesn’t quite understand. If Connor is doing this to himself, why can’t he just… stop? 

“It is. And it’s not a big deal, don’t you see? There are so many actually terrible things going on— I mean, you got shot in the freaking leg! So who cares that I pull my hair out sometimes?”

“ _I_ do!” Kevin shouts. “I get it, Connor. You don’t think it’s an issue. But I do! I don’t like seeing you hurt! I don’t like seeing you settle for anything less than the best life you could be living!”

Connor shakes his head. “I don’t get it. You could solve world hunger if you wanted to. Why would you waste your energy worrying about me?”

“Because I fucking _love_ you, Connor, that’s why!” Kevin explodes. He slams a hand over his mouth, his eyes huge. “Holy shit,” he says, his words muffled.

Connor stares back at him, and he looks _confused,_ which makes Kevin want to cry or scream or kiss Connor until he knows just how genuine he is. 

“You… love me?”

Kevin throws up his hands. “Fuck it, I do! I wanted this to be a lot more romantic, but the cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it? I love you, Connor McKinley. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love someone, and I know we’ve only been _together_ for two months, but that’s what it is. I love you, and I care about you, like, a lot. More than I care about anything else, including myself.”

“…I love you, too, Kev,” Connor says. Kevin moves to hug him, but Connor raises a hand to stop him. “But… what do you want me to do? Don’t you think I’ve tried to stop before? I can’t.”

“But now you have help! I can help you, Con!”

“How?” Connor challenges.

“I… I don’t know.” Kevin’s at a loss. He takes Connor’s hands. “But I’ll figure it out, okay?”

Connor chuckles, shaking his head. “Always so determined… But that’s why I love you…”

Kevin pulls him close and kisses him, pouring everything he has into making sure Connor can feel just how much he reciprocates. 

-o0o-

The villagers do, in fact, throw them a going away party, much to Connor’s chagrin. 

“You have done so much for us,” Mafala tells him when he sees that Connor’s uncomfortable. “This is the least we can do for you.”

“It’s greatly appreciated, I assure you, but… It’s a lot. You didn’t need to go to all this trouble.” Connor looks around at the festivities. There’s meat— a luxury reserved for only special occasions— and alcohol that had to have been purchased from the village. (Connor didn’t drink any, but some of the others were happy to indulge themselves now that they were no longer actually part of the church.) 

Mafala grins knowingly. “Well, this celebration may not be just for your mission, Elder McKinley.”

Connor was about to correct him— they’d all agreed that first names were better, now— when Arnold stood on a large rock, waving.

“Hey, everyone! Can I have a moment, please?” he shouts. “I don’t have a glass to clink, but… yeah. Look up here!” Once he has their attention, he gets down, pulling Nabulungi, who is sitting next to him, to a standing position. “Hey, guys! So, I’ve had a wonderful few months here in Uganda. I mean, not all wonderful. Some of it was pretty scary. But I learned a lot, and I got to help you guys out, and that was real neat. And while I was here, I met someone amazing; the most beautiful, nice, positive girl I’ve ever met. And I really don’t wanna leave her here. So, Naba…” Arnold gets down on one knee. “Will you marry me? I don’t have a ring or anything, sorry! My mom is gonna let me use my grandma’s ring when we get back home, but for now I just— Sorry! I’m sorry! What’s your answer?”

Naba is crying, but she’s also laughing, a hand over her mouth. She nods furiously. “Yes, Arnold! Yes, I will marry you!”

“Yay!” Arnold springs up, tackling Naba in a huge hug. “I love you so much, Naba!”

“I love you, too, Arnold!”

They’re both laughing, sobbing messes. Connor smiles. He catches Kevin’s eye. Kevin smiles back.

-o0o-

Kevin and Connor moved out of their parents’ houses as soon as they could. They end up in a small, shitty apartment in Chicago with Arnold and Naba. They all go to school and find jobs and drink in the city. Kevin learns a little bit more about Connor’s problem. He knows that Connor has tweezers stashed away in a couple of places, that he sometimes pulls at his hair without realizing what he’s doing, that he actually _does_ draw on his eyebrows.

Kevin has been thinking of ways to help Connor since they left Uganda. He has one idea. It’s not much, he knows, but he’s determined to help Connor; he’s sure he can.

Arnold and Naba are out for the weekend, meeting some of Arnold’s extended family. Kevin is nervous all morning. He doesn’t know when Connor will find out what he’s done, or how he’ll react. He’s not even sure it’s a good plan, but it makes sense to him: take away the tweezers, and Connor can’t use them to hurt himself.

Everything starts to fall to shit after Connor excuses himself to go use the bathroom. Kevin knows what this generally means. He’s in there for a while, and he usually emerges with new scabs on his arms.

This time, Kevin hears rummaging and clattering. Then there’s silence. He expects Connor to emerge from the bathroom right away. When he doesn’t, Kevin gets worried. He limps down the hall to the bathroom and peeks inside.

Connor is sitting on the floor. The contents of the bathroom drawers are scattered around him. His eyes are distant. His breathing is shallow. His nails are digging into his arm. Blood is dripping onto his pants. He doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Connor?” Kevin asks. 

No response.

“Connor?” Kevin asks again. He pulls Connor’s hand away from his arm.

Connor looks down at his arm, then up at Kevin. It almost looks like he’s not there. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Connor, snap out of it, please,” Kevin begs. He doesn’t know exactly what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. This is terrifying. Kevin’s heart is racing. The wounds on Connor’s arm aren’t very deep, but they’re deep enough that blood is rising out of them and coating his skin. 

“Here, Con. I’m sorry I took them. You can have them back now.” Kevin offers Connor his pairs of tweezers, which he’d been keeping in his pocket. Connor doesn’t respond.

“Okay. Then… We need to clean you up, right?” Kevin’s hands are trembling as he puts the tweezers back in his pocket. They don’t have any bandages big enough for Connor’s wounds, but they have hand towels and Bactine and tape, and that’ll have to do until Kevin can go to the store. 

“Connor? Are you okay? Can you talk to me?” Kevin hates how his voice shakes. He touches Connor’s good arm. “I need to bandage you up, okay?”

Connor nods vaguely. His hands clench and unclench around thin air.

“Okay… Hold still, then?” Kevin sprays the Bactine on Connor’s arm. He doesn’t even flinch. Kevin kind of wants to cry. He covers Connor’s arm with the hand towel and tapes it closed, sort of like a cuff, avoiding taping it to Connor’s skin. “There… Do you… Do you wanna get up?” Kevin’s voice is small and scared and he hates the sound of it. He hates how helpless he feels.

Connor moves his head slightly from side-to-side. 

“No? Um… Okay… I’ll be right back, okay?” Kevin says. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he knows that when he feels scared, he likes to be under a blanket. Maybe that will help Connor. So he goes into their room and bundles up their comforter, rushing back to Connor’s side as fast as his injured leg will take him.

He pushes Connor forward a little so that he can wrap the blanket around his shoulders; he figures this is better than laying it over Connor’s front— this way, his hands are in view.

“Con… Can I get you anything?”

Connor’s brow furrows, as if he’s trying to grasp what’s happening. “I don’t… think so…” He looks at the floor. “I should clean up…”

“No, no! I’ve got it,” Kevin says, relieved that Connor’s finally speaking. He starts setting things back in their drawers.

“Oh… Okay…” Connor rubs his face with his hands. “Fuck.”

Kevin’s heart sinks. “Con?”

Connor shakes his head, still covered by his hands. “I’m sorry, I just. Fuck. I freaked out.”

“It’s okay, Connor,” Kevin sooths. He sits down next to Connor, rubbing his back. “I shouldn’t have— I was trying to help, but I just fucked things up. _I’m_ sorry.”

Connor doesn’t say anything, but he leans into Kevin’s touch, and Kevin really hopes that means he’s forgiven.

-o0o-

About a week after the incident, Kevin interrupts Connor as he’s reading on their bed hands him a business card.

Connor reads it. “Kev… What is this?”

“Well, I was thinking about how, when we got back to the US, I started getting physical therapy for my leg, right? And it’s making me feel a whole lot better. Like, better than when I just tried to get it to heal on my own. And I thought that maybe that’s what you need. You need someone who knows what they’re doing. Who knows how to help you.”

“You’re talking about therapy…” Connor eyes the card doubtfully. “You think I need therapy?”

“I think it might help.” Kevin watches him. His tone is warm and encouraging. 

“I don’t know…”

Kevin takes his hands. “I know you don’t think that what you’re doing to yourself is a problem. I know this might sound excessive to you. But I think it might help you feel better. And I know I _can’t_ make you feel better— at least, not about this, and not by myself. So this is what I’ve got, and I’d really appreciate it if you gave it a try.”

Connor can’t help but smile. “…Okay. I’ll try it out.”

“Thank you,” Kevin says, smiling back. He nudges Connor over so that he can sit on the bed next to him. Then Kevin kisses him. Connor loves Kevin’s kisses; they always make him feel like they're the only two things in the world. 

-o0o-

Connor doesn’t quite remember when it all began. All he knows is that one day, he started, and he hasn’t been able to stop since. 

But he’s getting there.


End file.
